


absence makes the heart grow fonder

by wintercaps



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Begging, Biting, Canon Divergence, Domestic, Established Relationship, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Praise Kink, Pre-World War II Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers, kinda lmao bucky hurts and then steve comforts like 70 years later
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-10
Updated: 2018-12-10
Packaged: 2019-09-15 17:17:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16937454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wintercaps/pseuds/wintercaps
Summary: Bucky’s hands knew the shape of Steve better than he knew himself. Knew the feeling of his dry hands, his thin arms, his bony shoulders. The feeling of his ribcage under his hands and the dip of his concave stomach and the jut of his hipbones and the softness of his thighs. Bucky had spent countless hours pressed against Steve, pressed into Steve, hands memorising each and every inch of pale skin.—Adjusting to Steve’s new body is strange. A good fifteen years of friendship-turned-more-than-that had ensured that he knew every inch of Steve’s body; the one that Steve had when he came out the other side of Project Rebirth isn’t one that Bucky is familiar with.





	absence makes the heart grow fonder

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sunwhirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunwhirl/gifts).



> what the fuck is up gabby it’s your birthday!! kinda!! timezones are wack!! happy 19th babydoll big smooch 💕

Adjusting to Steve’s new body is strange. A good fifteen years of friendship-turned-more-than-that had ensured that he knew every inch of Steve’s body; the one that Steve had when he came out the other side of Project Rebirth isn’t one that Bucky is familiar with.

They grew up together, attached at the hip, even as Bucky continued to grow and fill out over he years, while Steve stayed the same scrawny little punk.

Bucky’s changes as he got older were much more visible than Steve’s; he shot up in height, his shoulders broadened, his voice deepened, the soft roundness of his jaw melted away with his youth, leaving behind harsh angles and lines.

Harsh angles and lines that Steve had spent his fair share of time drawing, if the sketches in his drawing pad were anything to go by. Bucky didn’t know a lot about art, but he knew that Steve had real talent and that he was going to do something special with that talent one day. Bucky would say that Steve’s art — his art was going to change the _world,_ and Steve would roll his eyes and tell him to _knock it off_ as Bucky waved the sketchbook high above his head and insisted that Steve was gonna be a real _someone_ one day.

Steve’s changes were much less noticeable, especially to those who didn’t notice Steve the way Bucky noticed Steve — had _always_ noticed Steve, since they were kids and Bucky managed to pick Steve out of a crowd of folks on the street, swinging punches at the kid tauntingly waving Steve’s sketchbook above their heads, out of Steve’s reach. Steve had socked him in the stomach and Bucky hadn’t thought twice before grabbing his arm and dragging him off before the other kid could regain his breath and kick the shit out of the scrawny runt. They’d bonded for life, right then and there, as two kids on a street corner gasping for air as they introduced themselves.

The thin layer of puppy fat on Steve’s hips and cheeks had disappeared, and where Bucky became angles and lines, Steve was awkwardly protruding backbones and knobbly knees and bony wrists. He stayed short and looking vaguely underfed, dark circles under his eyes getting darker with each passing year, though his voice did him a favor by dropping into a tone that always sent shivers racing up Bucky’s spine when he heard it.

Bucky loved Steve’s voice, all the time, even when he was waving around an empty bottle of milk and cursing him out. Bucky mostly loved Steve’s voice when it was raw and breaking as he cried out Bucky’s name and raked lines down his back with the nails he always kept a tad too long.

Bucky’s hands knew the shape of Steve better than he knew himself. Knew the feeling of his dry hands, his thin arms, his bony shoulders. The feeling of his ribcage under his hands and the dip of his concave stomach and the jut of his hipbones and the softness of his thighs. Bucky had spent countless hours pressed against Steve, pressed _into_ Steve, hands memorising each and every inch of pale skin.

They spend their teenage years muffling their sounds in Steve’s room while his ma’s at work, Bucky’s own house too loud and busy for any sense of privacy. When Sarah passes and they get their own place, Bucky finds a way to make Steve shout on every flat surface in their apartment. As Steve gasps and trembles in his arms, cheeks flushed pink, Bucky trails kisses over the soft skin of Steve’s chest, and knows that he’d love his Steve no matter what.

—

 _I thought you were smaller_. It was the first semi-coherent thing Bucky had said to Steve after — after. Bucky doesn’t like thinking of what happened at Azzano. It makes his head hurt and his hands shake and his stomach flip. He tries not to think of Azzano.

Instead, he thinks of Steve. Steve, now several inches taller than Bucky. Steve, crooked spine and protruding bones no longer an issue. Steve, who runs a hundred yards in less than ten seconds and doesn’t show any signs of having done so.

They trek back to base camp while Steve explains everything, from Dr. Erskine to Camp Lehigh to the USO to him going against direct orders when he heard that the 107th — that _Bucky’s_ unit had been captured. His cheeks pink up at that last bit as he shyly glances at Bucky and Bucky grins, swaying closer just enough to brush their hands together as they walk.

Bucky can’t wait for the first moment that they’re alone; he’s going to climb this man like a _tree_ and discover exactly what else has changed about the body he used to know so well.

It turns out that Steve hadn’t told Bucky everything. Peggy Carter is a gorgeous woman, even Bucky can admit that. He’s never really felt a whole lot for women, especially not the way he feels for Steve. He can still acknowledge a pretty lady when he sees one, which Carter certainly is. Her lipstick reminds Bucky of a bloody grin and her dark hair frames her face and she looks _powerful,_ like she has _plans_ and wouldn’t let anyone get in her way. Steve looks at her with those soft eyes and Bucky thinks, _ah._ Of course. Bucky shouldn’t have expected — anything, after he left that night. Steve had said it himself; _I thought you were dead_. Of course Steve would find a gal to fall in love with.

And it hurts, it does, Bucky feels like his heart is being crushed and stepped on and fucking — _tortured_ like he had been. He steps back and shouts _let’s hear it for Captain America!_ as though he can hide the sound of his heart breaking in the resounding cheers.

Bucky tries, later on, to bridge the gap that suddenly feels cavernous between them. Steve’s smiling when he comes back from recruiting the men that will come to be like family for them, and Bucky teases, “See? Told you! They’re _all_ idiots.”

Steve chuckles as he settles in beside Bucky at the bar. “How ‘bout you? You ready to follow _Captain America_ into the jaws of death?”

“Hell no.” Bucky scoffs. Steve keeps smiling, and Bucky swallows his nerves. “That little guy from Brooklyn who was too dumb not to run away from a fight….I’m following him.”

The smiles disappears from Steve’s face. They both know what Bucky means by that. _I’ve loved you since before you were Captain America. I followed you then, I’ll follow you now._

Bucky’s throat feels tight at Steve’s lack of response. He tries again, leaning closer. “But you’re keeping the outfit, right?”

Steve smiles, this time, looking at the tacky Captain America poster on the wall behind them. “Y’know what? It’s kinda growin’ on me.”

Bucky’s heart races in his chest at those words, cheeks already aching with the force of his grin. He goes to say something else; forgets what it is when the singing in the next room tapers off. Steve’s eyes trail over to the doorway and he turns to look as well.

Agent Carter looks swell in her red dress, hair perfectly styled, like she could destroy nations without breaking a sweat.

“Captain.” She smiles with that red-painted mouth.

“Agent Carter.” Steve greets, a soft curl to the corner of his lip.

Bucky slides up beside Steve, adding, “Ma’am.”

Carter briefly glances at him before turning back to Steve. “Howard has some equipment for you to try, tomorrow morning.”

Bucky pulls a face inadvertently, because he is quite obviously being ignored. Not that he really _blames_ Carter; he’d probably do the same if he were in her shoes and someone else were trying to distract him from Steve. Well — he glances down at her feet. He’d probably be curled over in pain if he were in her shoes. The _arches_ to those things, Christ, how was she even standing.

Steve nods. “Sounds good.” There’s a moment where Carter looks back into the room she’d walked through and Steve looks her over and Bucky looks over Steve looking her over. There’s a whole lot of looking.

“I see your top squad is prepping for duty.” Carter says when she turns back

Bucky jumps in before Steve can. “You don’t like music?” A part of him thinks _, Steve does_. They’d never gone out dancing together, especially not _together_ , but there were times where they’d sway together in the kitchen or living room, one of them humming a mindless tune for them to follow. Steve had a real knack for remembering songs, and it was usually him that would give them the music to sway to.

“I do, actually.” Carter corrects as she gives Steve a very obvious once-over. “I might even, once this is all over, go dancing.”

Bucky jumps in again, desperate, feeling very much as though Steve is slipping through his fingers. “Then what are we waitin’ for?”

And Carter smiles that sharp smile of hers. “The right partner. Oh-eight-hundred, Captain.”

Steve watches her go with a smile, “Yes, ma’am. I’ll be there.”

“I’m invisible.” Bucky turns to Steve with a bitter smile. “I’m — turning into you. This’s a horrible dream.”

Steve pats him on the shoulder as he leaves. “Don’t take it so hard. Maybe she’s got a friend.”

Bucky spends the night at the bar, nursing drink after drink.

—

The next morning, Bucky smiles through his pounding headache and claps Steve on the shoulder and teases him about Agent Carter and acts as though everything is fine.

Everything is not fine.

—

They take everything slow, at first. Well. Kind of.

They _try_ to rush into it; Bucky pulls Steve in for a biting kiss and Steve slams him against a wall and they tear at each other’s clothes, and then Bucky has a meltdown and winds up crouched in the corner, crying, Steve hesitantly hovering over him, unsure of what to do.

They take it slow after that. Hesitant kisses and shy, wandering hands, and Bucky feels like they’re awkward pubescent kids all over again, just learning what the other likes.

And it’s not exactly an inaccurate comparison. Bucky knows that he used to like Steve pulling his hair, especially when Steve would take him over the couch in their little apartment and grab fistfuls of his hair and fuck him till he forgot his own name. When Steve tries to tug on Bucky’s hair now, he almost winds up with a broken wrist from how fast Bucky snaps his left hand out to stop him. Steve kisses his cheek apologetically and doesn’t reach for his hair again.

And Steve — Steve is just _different._ He’s _bigger_ , shoulders wide and thighs _thick_ and hands that look like they could really hold Bucky down, which Bucky thinks he might be into, unless his triggers have anything to say about it.

It takes time. They work their way from their second first kiss to gentle _petting_ to handjobs to — well. Everything beyond.

Now, Bucky grabs at every bit of skin he can get his hands on, Steve grinning shyly down at him. They’re in the living room, Steve still seated on the sofa with Bucky knelt between his legs. The shirt Steve had been wearing is tossed of somewhere in the corner of the room, his jeans tugged down around his ankles. It had taken Bucky several minutes of cursing to get those skinny jeans off those fucking _sinful_ thighs. Bucky himself is still fully dressed in a Henley and sweats.

“Bucky—“ Steve starts. Bucky cuts him off with a light bite against the cord of muscle in his thigh. Steve curses under his breath, head tossed back. He’s so pretty it hurts, Bucky’s heart aching in his chest. He never got to find out what Steve felt like or looked like after Azzano; he gets to now. He gets to mutter for Steve to _stay still_ and cover his hips and thighs in bruises and bites that fade within minutes. He gets to brush his lips against Steve’s cock and swallow him down and get used to the new size of it, longer and thicker than it had been before. He gets to catalogue each and every whimper, groan, gasp, and shiver.

Steve curls forward and presses his face into Bucky’s shoulder when he comes, hips shuddering in Bucky’s grip. Bucky swallows with a grimace; it doesn’t exactly taste _good_ but it’s not the worst thing he’s ever tasted, either. And Steve looks at him with wide, awed eyes, so. He doesn’t really mind.

Steve groans, “ _Bucky_.” as he draws him in for a kiss. Bucky grins and it doesn’t end up being much of a kiss at all.

“God.” Steve shakes his head when he leans back. “That was — Bucky, wow.”

“Glad I could make it so good for you.” Bucky laughs. He rests his chin against Steve’s bare knee.

“Baby, you’re _always_ good for me.” Steve’s voice drops and Bucky shivers. They’d found out pretty early on in their _exploration_ of each other that Bucky liked being told nice things — _really_ liked it. Felt his painfully hard cock throb in response to Steve’s words, liked it.

“Always so well behaved.” Steve continues, cupping Bucky’s face with one hand, the other trailing down his neck. Bucky closes his eyes and leans into the touch. “Doing exactly what I ask, huh? And you always look so pretty doing it.”

Bucky opens his mouth at the gentle press of Steve’s thumb against his lower lip.

“Look at me, sweet thing, I wanna see your pretty eyes.” Steve coos as he slides his thumb into Bucky’s mouth. Bucky suckles around the digit as he blinks open his eyes. “Aw, there we go. Want you to keep your eyes on me, okay?”

Bucky flicks his tongue against the thumb in agreement. Steve smiles and pulls his finger out, before he slides it back in with another two. The sudden stretch isn’t enough to hurt, though Bucky does choke around the unexpected fullness. He blinks and breathes and relaxes and lets Steve do whatever he wants.

Steve, apparently, just wants to keep Bucky right where he is, down on his knees. The hand that had been brushing against his neck slides back up to cradle his jaw, the other hand sliding deeper into his mouth, till Bucky is struggling against his gag reflex at the press of fingers. Bucky flutters his lashes and feels tears slip past them, hot against his flushed cheeks, even as he squints to keep his blurry gaze on Steve.

Steve sighs, “such pretty sounds.” as he presses his fingers deeper, just for a moment, before sliding his hand back. Bucky gasps and blinks wetness out of the corner of his eyes.

A gentle pressure against the back of his neck brings him closer to Steve. He presses his forehead to Steve’s knee, steadying his breathing, focusing on the feeling of Steve’s thumb rubbing comforting circles into the base of his skull. The other hand — the one that had been knuckle-deep in Bucky’s mouth only moments before — still rests against his cheek.

“You okay, baby?” Steve’s voice still does things to Bucky seven goddamn decades later. He nods and lifts his head. He’s so hard it hurts, aching in his sweats, and he knows that Steve wouldn’t punish him if he were to come right there — but he also knows that the best rewards come when he holds out, when Steve whispers _you can come, baby_ and praises him throughout for waiting for permission, _like a good boy._

Steve’s smiling down at him and Bucky squirms as his cheeks heat. He _loves_ when Steve looks at him like that; like Bucky holds his heart the same way Steve holds Bucky’s.

“Please?” Bucky’s mouth feels clumsy around the word, and he doesn’t want to _rush_ Steve, but he’s _really hard_ and he _really_ wants to please him. The cutest little crinkles form around Steve’s eyes as his smile grows, teeth flashing behind soft lips that Bucky wants nothing more that to bite and suck at.

“Of course, sweetheart.” Steve shifts and Bucky leans back automatically, staying on his knees as Steve rises. He awkwardly steps out of his skinny jeans, tugging them off from where they cling around his ankles. Bucky is almost eye-level with Steve’s perfect goddamn dick and for a moment, _just a moment_ , he thinks about ducking his head forward and taking him into his mouth and getting Steve to come again just like that. The thing is, Steve didn’t say he could, so Bucky sits quietly and waits for an instruction.

It comes when Steve holds a hand out to him. Bucky takes it, grimacing as he stands up, joints in his knees protesting after being in the same position for so long.

Steve teases, “gettin’ old.” and Bucky rolls his eyes, pressing into Steve’s space.

Bucky latches onto Steve, arms and legs wound around him in a death grip, when Steve suddenly lifts him. The soft laugh in his ear makes him scowl and grip tighter, for just a moment.

Steve holds him like he weighs no more than a feather, and a thrill runs through Bucky at the thought — being picked up and _manhandled_ by the same scrawny kid who’d complain whenever Bucky would lean against him. Bucky runs an appreciative hand over the arms holding him up, one under the thighs he has wrapped tight around Steve’s waist and the other around his back. Bucky sighs happily into Steve’s neck. God, those _arms._

“So, I was thinkin’,” Steve heads down the hallway towards their room. Bucky cuts in with a snarky _that’s rare_ and curses at the light swat Steve aims at his backside. “ _I was thinking,_ that I wanted to fuck you tonight? Unless _you_ want to, or you don’t wanna — at all, that’s fine, too!”

Bucky rolls his eyes. He’d already fucked Steve several times, in several different places around the apartment. Many places, in fact. Nearly every place. He definitely isn’t against being on the receiving end this time. “Nah, it’s fine, it’s been a while. Like, seventy years. Yeah, no, I’m ready. Take me like one of your French girls, Stevie.”

Steve presses him against one of the walls in the hallway, mouth at his neck, and Bucky gasps at the sudden change.

“Oh, fuck, that’s — okay.” He wheezes.

Steve snarks, “oh, is it?” and Bucky laughs, pressing head head back into the wall. The laugh chokes off into a moan when Steve rocks against him. Steve’s whole glorious naked body is right there, pressing him into the hideous off-white walls.

“Hey,” Bucky says. “We should repaint the walls. Something nice, like a light blue.”

Steve presses his laughter into Bucky’s shoulder, his entire frame shaking. “I’m — about to fuck you, and you’re thinking about _redecorating_?”

“Well! The walls are _really_ ugly!” Bucky defends. “Just like your stupid mug — hey, okay, okay, geez!”

Steve pinches his side once more before he lets it drop. “Fuck, I love you.”

“Mm, love you too.” Bucky ducks his head and kisses Steve slow and sweet.

“Okay.” Steve declares when he draws back, cheeks flushed pink and eyes bright, mouth already bruise-bitten. “Let’s find a flat surface for me to fuck you on.”

“Perfectly good flat surface right here.” Bucky pats a hand against the wall.

Steve raises one of those perfect eyebrows. Bucky vaguely wonders if he’s attracted to Steve’s eyebrows. They’re _really_ nice eyebrows. “A _horizontal_ flat surface, Buck. And weren’t you just complaining about how ugly the walls are?”

“Well, yeah. Ugly to look at, they’re perfectly fine to be fucked against.”

Steve mutters _Christ_ with an almost disbelieving shake of his head. “Got no lube out here.”

“Okay,” Bucky concedes. “So we go grab some from the room, or the bathroom, or the living room, or the kitchen, or — “

“I get it! We have a lot of lube everywhere!”

“And then we come back here and you make rough, passionate, _sweaty_ love to me against this wonderful, hideous wall.”

“Oh, gross, sweaty?”

“The _sweatiest_.” Bucky grins at the disgusted look Steve throws his way. “C’mon, Stevie! Wanna feel those big, strong arms hold me up while you make me forget my own damn name. Again. In like, a good way this time.”

“Jesus _Christ_ , Bucky!” Steve squawks.

“What! It’s my trauma, I can make fun of it if I want to!”

Steve shakes his head. For a moment, he squints at Bucky, sizing him up. Bucky raises his chin and stares back defiantly.

“Okay, fine!” Steve throws one hand in the air, the other still tucked safely under Bucky’s thighs. “You want me to fucking — pound you against a wall, that’s your choice! Don’t complain to me if it hurts your back.”

“Oh, no, I definitely will.” Bucky pats his shoulder almost comfortingly as he wiggles out of Steve’s grip. He shoos Steve off to their room to retrieve the lube as he strips out of his shirt and sweats, leaving them in a neat little pile next to himself.

“Turn around, you stubborn little punk.” Steve orders when he comes back, bottle of lube in hand. Bucky grins. He presses against the wall, hands flat near his shoulders, keeping his hips away from the surface and wriggling his ass tauntingly. Steve follows through with a swift little swat that barely makes him jump.

Bucky keeps his mouth running as Steve clicks the cap of the bottle and works those fucking — thick, _glorious,_   _holyshitholyshitholyshit_ fingers inside him. “I know I said blue, but — oh, cold! Y’couldn’t take, like, a second to let it warm up? Don’t give me that look! Geez. Anyways, I thought maybe yellow instead? But like — not a nice yellow. I’m thinkin’ we go for the most hideous yellow we can — move faster, you know? Don’t, like, shove your whole damn hand in me, obviously, but you don’t have to be so careful! Like, the brightest, ugliest, most disgusting yellow we can find. Oh, maybe a yellowish-brown? And then every time we have someone over, we can act like, _oh, we repainted, isn’t it nice! This color really reminds us of home and happy memories_ or something, and watch everyone else struggle not to say something about how _horrible_ it — mm, add another finger?”

Steve’s laughing behind him, _shaking_ with it, even as he slides another finger, and then another, inside Bucky. He keeps Bucky pinned to the wall with his free hand, pressed tight against his hip. Bucky’s words start to taper off into gasps and moans, and then fall into nothing as he rocks back against those fingers.

“Aw, you’re so quiet now. C’mon, keep tellin’ me about how you want to put a _sex dungeon_ in the living room and act like we’re clueless about it not being _appropriate_ when guests are over.” Steve taunts, curling his fingers, leaving Bucky shivering and all but drooling against the wall.

Bucky whispers an emphatic _fuck_ when Steve draws his hand away. He knocks his forehead into the plaster, breath shaking out of his chest in fast little wheezes.

“You alright, sweetheart? Need a moment?” Steve ducks around to look him in the eyes, clearly worried. “We can —“

“Steve. Steve, baby, I love you, and right now I need you _inside me,_ or I am going to _die.”_ Bucky grits out. Steve blinks.

“That — okay, I’m. I’ll just —“ he disappears behind Bucky again and Bucky groans at the sound of the cap clicking again and the wet, vaguely gross sounds of Steve’s hand on his own dick. Bucky loves sex, he just doesn’t like a lot of the _sounds_ a lot of the time.

“Alright, I’m gonna, uh. Turn around for me?”

Bucky turns and jumps right into Steve’s arms, the little grunt he lets out the only sign that he’d been surprised. He stays in place and his arms hold Bucky up without issue.

“Alright.” Bucky grins, getting comfortable against the wall. “Have at it, Stevie.”

Steve raises his eyes to the roof, mouthing _why is he like this_ , before he shifts closer. He easily supports Bucky with just one arm, the other moving lower. Bucky gasps and groans into Steve’s shoulder. It doesn’t hurt, the feeling of Steve’s cock rocking inside him, inch by inch as Steve takes his time, but it’s definitely strange. He’d been fucked by Steve countless times when they were younger and Steve had been smaller and Steve’s _dick_ had been smaller. Bucky curls his toes and shivers and moans as the feeling of being stretched around that perfect cock. It definitely hadn’t felt like this back then.

Steve finally stills, hips pressed into Bucky’s ass. They both take a moment to settle their heart rates and at least attempt to control their breathing.

“Buck. Bucky, sweetheart, can I —“

“Yeah.” Bucky nods frantically. “Yeah, please, _please._ ”

The first thrust has Bucky choking on his own breath, nails digging into the muscles of Steve’s shoulders.

“ _Steve._ ” Bucky moans. He mouths at Steve’s neck, gasping and whimpering with every following thrust as Steve settles into a punishing pace, cock grinding against all the right spots. Bucky hysterically thinks _perfect aim_ , because _of_ _course_ Steve has perfect aim — he’s a master tactician and flawless with a gun.

Bucky grazes his teeth over the straining vein in Steve’s neck, toes curling at the sound Steve makes. Steve fucks bruises into Bucky’s ass, and Bucky bites marks into the expanse of his neck. It seems like a pretty fair trade.

Bucky had, at least, been right about the _sweaty_ part. It’s only a thin sheen of sweat over Steve’s chest and forehead, curling his hair against his temples in the cutest way, but still, it’s sweat. Sweat that Bucky licks off that gorgeous neck, following the path of his tongue with bites and open-mouthed kisses and sucking at the flesh till it bruises a delicious reddish purple.

“Oh, fuck.” Bucky gasps when Steve gets a hand around his cock. “Oh, Steve, _Steve,_ that’s — can I —“

“Yeah, baby. Come whenever you want.” Steve all but growls in his ear. Part of what tips him over the edge is having permission to do so; mostly, it’s the low rumble of his voice. So much has changed about Steve; he’s bigger than he ever could have hoped to be when they were younger, all of the childhood scars from stupid accidents that Bucky had lovingly caressed and kissed had long since healed, his hands are more calloused than they’d ever been, even when he’d gotten a job selling comics to various newspapers and spent most of his days furiously scribbling away. His voice, though, is the same. It sounds like waves crashing and the shot of a gun and the endless expanse of the universe and — and _home,_ and Bucky cries Steve’s name as he comes thinking of this.

Steve whispers in his ear about how _sweet_ and _pretty_ he is as he reaches his own climax, biting down against Bucky’s shoulders to muffle his shout as his hips stutter against Bucky’s ass. Bucky smiles, completely lax in Steve’s arms, knowing that Steve has more than enough strength to hold him up.

—

“Hey, so, seriously.” Bucky says later, when they’re curled up in bed. Steve’s on his side with his back pressed to Bucky’s chest and their legs are tangled and it reminds him of how they used to sleep in their apartment before the war, when Steve would grumble about being the little spoon. He loved being the little spoon, of course; but he was Steve Rogers, and part of being Steve Rogers meant he had to find something to grumble about in every situation. “About the walls?”

“Bucky, oh my _god,_ go the fuck to sleep.”

Bucky _does_ go the fuck to sleep, but he falls asleep thinking of the worst shades they could pick and making mental plans for a trip to the nearest store that would provide them with such a color.


End file.
